


Remember The Monster?

by chapstickandweed



Category: Dexter (TV), Dexter Series - All Media Types, Dexter Series - Jeff Lindsay
Genre: F/F, F/M, Inspired by Dexter, M/M, POV Dexter Morgan, Post-Episode: s08e12 Remember The Monsters?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28289250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapstickandweed/pseuds/chapstickandweed
Summary: "the moon is outand here to stay,the tides go outto come back another dayim going into the woods,gave up the life that was minemy dark passenger never lefthe was just inside."
Relationships: Angel Batista & Joey Quinn, Debra Morgan/Dexter Morgan, Debra Morgan/Joey Quinn, Dexter Morgan & Harry Morgan, Dexter Morgan/Brian Moser, Hannah McKay/Dexter Morgan, Rita Bennett/Dexter Morgan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Miss me?

_30 seconds…_

**_“I really think that I should be…”_ **

**_“Uh huh…”_ ** _I nodded, my heart racing, 28 seconds…I'm running out of time. I think as I fumble to make sure all the luggage is secure and we have everything we need. My head feels cloudy and all I can feel is the heat in my cheeks and the tight grip of my nails into the palm of my hand._

**_He's coming, Dexter! He's already on his way and you're not prepared._ ** _Harry yells._

**_“...I don't even know if I'll be able to do that…”_ ** _Hannah rambles on and grab her shoulders to make her see the issues at stake._

**_“Hannah…”_ ** _I gasp, my eyes wide, she has never seen this side of Dexter Morgan. The funny, charming, quiet side morphs into something kids dream about tumbling out of their closets at night. A monster. “_ **_He..He’s coming...You need...to go.”_ **

_Why am I telling her this? She can’t know this. I need to save her._

**_“Go where, Dexter? I don’t understand. You’re scaring me.”_ ** _Hannah whines, eyes wider than mine. My breath stops in my throat and I have a stifle a nervous cough that sounds like a chuckle._

 ** _Save her, Dexter! He’s coming!_** **_He's almost here!_** _Harry yells, and my throat lets out a gargled whine. I grab Hannahs hand leading her from the dim kitchen light to the car outside. My heart thumping with every step I take._

**_I won’t let him take her_ ** _. I tell Harry. Not this time._

_"_ **_I don't want to go without you."_ ** _Hannah cries, but she sounds so far away._

_Ten seconds. The street is empty minus a few cars. The dim lights shining above aren’t enough for me to get the car door unlocked. The blood rushes to my other organs trying to keep them warm as the adrenaline makes my heart pump louder and louder._

**_Eight seconds, Dexter. You can’t fight this!_ ** _Harry yells at me._

_I fumble and drop the keys beneath the car. Grumbling, I get down on my knee scrambling to search for them._

_“_ **_Ha...Hannah!”_ ** _I say standing up, to meet eyes with her._

_The ache in my chest is damning. Arthur Mitchells piercing blue eyes stare back at me._

**_“I-I-I…”_ ** _Dexter Morgan, the one, the only, can’t even form a sentence. Can’t save anyone._

**_“You’re too late, Dexter Morgan.”_ ** _Arthur smiles at me, gleaming crooked teeth._

**_“WHAT...DID...YOU DO TO HER!”_ ** _I manage to gasp out. The wind is cold against my ears as I run inside the house. Stumbling over the rug at the front door, barely managing not to trip over Harrisons blocks, and into the stench of the hallway. Blood._

_No._

_The moon coming in from the window, and the light from the hallway makes the red floors gleam. Heavy, thick droplets of blood are seeping down from the tub. A pale, lifeless Rita inside, the echoes of tears on her face, begging to be saved._

**_“You did this to her,”_ ** _Arthur Mitchell says, grabbing me by the collar and pushing me up against the shower door, shattering the glass. I can feel pieces piercing into my skull, but I push against him, fighting to get her._

**_“It wasn’t me! I didn’t kill her!”_ ** _I try to convince him. He has to know I would never do that. She had to know I would never do that._

**_Dexter!_ ** _Harry calls from outside. Arthurs grip is tightening around my throat. A shard of glass pierces through my left ear making a deafening ringing. A shooting pain goes to my chin and my jaw aches as I push against Arthur onto the floor, soaking his back in blood. I grab his shirt by the collar slamming his body back into the ground._

**_Dexter, NOW!_ ** _Harry yells._

**_Dexter!_ ** _A womans voice cries out, and my cheeks start to feel warm. I know...I know that voice. Its been so long...I push up off of Arthur slamming his head back down against the floor._

**_“I’m sorry…”_ ** _I cry out. Arthur Mitchells chopped up body at my feet. I’m not sure who I am trying to apologize to. My throat heaves when I’m able to glance up at Rita as I run to the hallway. Her lifeless eyes that used to hold so much joy when she looked at her children. I never deserved when she looked at me like that. I couldn’t save her…I can't save anyone...Maybe Debra...If I can keep anyone please let me keep Deb._

**_“DEB!”_ ** _I yell, rushing outside into the street._ **_“Debra, where are you?”_ **

_All the lights are dim, people aren’t ready to wake up just yet. The sun is almost ready to shine over the water. I see a figure waking closer to me in the distance. A tall, slender grey haired man smiling up at me. She will be so happy now. I rush to greet him._

**_“Lundy…”_ ** _I start to ask him if he has seen Debra, but I’m cut off when a gunshot rings throughout the air. Debras voice calls out Franks name and I turn to see her. Tall, hair falling down to her waist, (I did always like it long) piercing sad eyes._

**_"D-”_ ** _I can’t speak. Her sad eyes turn into something else as she steps away from me. The ringing sound is splitting, I have to cover my ears. A strangled cry comes out from Debra as she falls to the ground shirt coated in blood._

**_“Deb, no, please.”_ ** _I rush to her aid, placing support behind her neck, as she tries to shake away from me._ **_“Deb!”_ **

_My sister flinches and tears pour out of her eyes as her body shakes with uncontrollable blood loss. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and by the amount of blood already covering my hands I know its too late. I know her. I know her. I can’t not have her. It's not fair. It's not fair. It's too late. “_ **_Deb, I can't lose you!”_ **

_My sisters eyes flutter, dropping more tears down her fair cheeks._ **_“I’m sorry…”_ ** _I cry, “_ **_Deb, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.. I'm so sorry…”_ **

…...

Dexter awoke with a start. 

Unlike every other night for the past ten years he had a strange rumbling in his chest. The lump in his throat that had been urging him to cry out the same name he’s been trying to forget. Deb. 

The moon reflecting over the water was one of the only things you could see out his bedroom window. The water seemed to stretch endlessly. Not unlike the void inside Dexter Morgan.

The voices weren’t as loud as before. His father. His brother. His dark passenger, were seemingly let go when he let his sister sink to the bottom of the ocean. The meaningless day to day tasks he partakes in are not enough to bring her back. Nothing is enough to provoke him to come back out.

He was no longer the man that Debra loved, or Rita or Astor or Cody. He was the father that abandoned his son. And maybe he couldn’t hide forever in this tiny cabin like he had hoped. Eventually his feelings he always suppressed would rise to the surface and make him remember all those horrible things from his past life. Things he most certainly did not miss. Not the intimacy from his wife, not the breathy cadence of the sleeping children, not the warmth from Lumen or Hannah. He did not miss the comfort and stability from the love he got from his sister. The only thing he let himself miss was the warmth of Miami. The sun baring down on his back while working on a case. The sweat that pooled on his forehead that only a nice chilled drink would relieve. Driving with his windows down and feeling the breeze on behind his ears.

Glancing over at the clock on the wall the time read 1:22 a.m.. The fourth night this week Dexter had woken up after finding Rita in the bathtub, but this is the first night he had actually seen Debras face in his dream. Usually she was blurry or far away and he was always trying to get to her or reach her. But this time she was right there and so so afraid.

The itch started in his throat and made its way down to his chest. His ribcage moving up and down with out ease. It had been far too long since he had felt anything besides resentment. His interactions with other human beings were almost becoming unbearable. Dexter skipped around a few times, not staying too long in one place. Life just kept going, no matter that he didn’t have his family anymore or any inkling about who he was. Nothing ever paused or slowed down. His life continued for so long it took him awhile to catch up. 

Here he was laying in bed with his scratchy wool blanket as his only warmth and staring up at the wood ceiling...again. He pushed his hands up against his cheeks feeling the scratch of his beard on his palms. His hair had gotten unruly the past few years. He was unrecognizable. The kind of man that looked like he would be arrested and charged with some heinus crime. Maybe he would be. Maybe thats just what he needed. 

The itch came back in his throat, and this time he gulped down the cup of water that was beside his bed. Maybe he was tired of waiting. Maybe his dreams were trying to tell him something. His life was lacking, in need of something so desperately he just wasn’t sure what.

A stalk? A kill? How would he be able to pull off the heists he used to when he doesn't have access to any of his tools? His M99? His blood slides? The criminal database? He gave all that up a long time ago, and so he has had to live with this overwhelming desire for something more. That makes him itch his skin until it bleeds, stay up all hours of the night until his stomach feels like it's being eaten from the inside out. He usually could keep his dark passenger under control. Easily switch back and forth between Dexter Morgan: Family Man and Dexter Morgan: The Serial Killer. Now that he doesn't have a secret life, or any life to keep up appearances, there is no reassurance of who he is anymore. When theres no one to tell him, he's not really sure who he is. Maybe he has just been pretending his whole life. A mirage of what a good man could be. _But good men don't let their wives get murdered. And good men don't let their sisters sink to the bottom of the ocean._ So, maybe Dexter Morgan wasn't a good man. Maybe he didn't need to pretend anymore. Maybe he could finally be exactly who he always was. Who Harry never let him be. 

Dexter sat on the edge of the bed wiping the sleep from his eyes and pulling his socks onto his cold feet. Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom. HIs apartment was small and always tidy. He liked not having any lights on at night and navigating through the dark, but tonight was different. He didn’t want to see anyone in the shadows. No more crying sisters or dead wives in tubs. No more gut wrenching guilt. Switching on the light Dexter gasped and fell back when he saw a man sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Eyes gleaming with delight. 

_Miss me?_ The man asked.

Dexters choked out a cough. The last ten years he had been completely on his own. Silence had become such a constant echo. He had always dreamed about life alone, but until he really was he never realized how loud being lonely can really be. There, sitting on the edge of the tub, staring up at Dexter with his dark eyes and floppy hair: A man Harry stole from him. A man that almost killed his sister. A man Dexter was forced to let go of. Dexters heart sunk. 

His brother.


	2. You Are A Liar, Dexter Morgan

“ _ It’s been too long, brother _ .” Brian smiled up at Me. 

Even in the flashing, dim bathroom light, Brian still had the same boyish grin that made me feel like I was three years old again. I gulped, gripping the cold handle of the bathroom door. Closing my eyes and reopening them did not make my older brother disappear. Brians smile widened. 

“ _ I just got here and you’re trying to make me go away? _ ” Brian asked, standing right in front me, but my eyes were focused on the floor. 

“You left me…” I whispered hoarsely. 

Brian laughed, “ _ we are going to talk about abandonment issues right now? You wanna talk about our chopped up mother while we’re at it _ ?” 

I shuffled my feet moving past my brother and turning on the sink to splash cold water on my face. Rubbing my palms upward against my cheeks feeling the scruff of my beard. Brian stared blankly at me from behind the mirror. 

“ _ I get it _ ,” Brian said, following me out of the bathroom and continuing as I pulled on my shoes and jacket, “ _ I am not who you wanted to see _ .” 

I swiftly tied my boots into a knot and headed toward the door without answering my brother. My pace quickning with every step. 

“ _ Ah, yes. Thats it. Big Bad Brian is scaring Dexter Morgan away. What happened to the man who got excited when I left him those neat little packages way back when, huh? Is he still in there _ ?” Brian yells his last sentence. I had walked ahead towards the pier that looked out onto the water. I always felt so much more calm by water. No matter how deep my relationship with blood went, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere in the deep, dark musty abyss of the ocean, Deb was lying,  _ decaying,  _ there. All alone. Dropped off like one of the men in trash bags. “ _ Debra deserved so much better than you.” _

I turned, and remembered I wasn’t alone anymore. My thoughts started speaking to me out loud again and chose to come in the form of my older brother. “What...did you say?” 

“ _ I said,” _ Brian smiled, coming face to face with his little brother, “ _ Debra...deserved...better. _ ” 

I could feel the swelling in my chest rising up to my throat. I couldn’t let out another whine, not here, not now. Showing emotion was one thing but showing emotion in front of your dead brother you are imagining is another. I glanced back and forth between the endless water and at my brothers toothy grin.  Some days I wondered if I should take care of himself like he took care of so many others.  Why had my self preservation kicked in and saved me all those years ago? Made me swim all the way to shore? Made me pull himself out of the water and create a whole new identity for myself? “ _ Maybe because you planned it.”  _ Brian said. 

“I didn’t plan anything,” I grumbled, trying to clear the lump forming in my throat. “I didn’t want to come back out of the water.” 

“ _ Oh, yeah _ ?” Brian taunted me, getting closer. His lips pursed against his shiny teeth. “ _ Little brother had given up _ ?” 

“Yes,” I answered without hesitating. 

“ _ Wron _ g!” Brian yelled, “ _ You are a LIAR. Dexter Morgan _ .” 

I didn’t reply. I flinched at Brians loud voice. My eyes unable to meet my older brothers pressing stare. The ache in my body was overwhelming, and heavy. My shoulders seemed to sink even lower. My neck, fully aware of my body weight, started leaning to the side desperate for relief. Closing my eyes, I remembered the water like it was yesterday. Hearing the splash of my phone in the ocean.  _ Don’t think about your dead sister.  _ Turning into the eye of the storm.  _ Don’t think about your dead sister.  _ Pushing the gears of my boat into the chaos.  _ I can’t stop thinking about my dead sister.  _ Water pouring down all around, the sky was grey and cloudy, with thunder rumbling ferociously. I had only been in the storm a few seconds when I threw my body from the boat, into the tumbling water below. Waves crashed all around me. Bobbing my head trying to stay afloat, water shot through my nasal passage scorching my sinuses. A man scrambling to keep his head above water. A man who once sent so many godforsaken souls down to this very deep was about to meet the same end. I had heard that drowning was an awful way to go. The scorching, burning, exploding sensations. The impending doom beneath had a strong grip on my throat. Water seemed to take up all the space in my body at once, begging to be let out somehow. I felt a pinch beneath my ears when I gasped and inhaled water down into my lungs. I choked out a scream. 

_ “Where are you, little brother? Where have you been the last ten years?”  _

I shuffled, choking on my silence, remembering the water that had once almost taken my life. My breathing was shallow. The cement was cold and hard against the bone of my knees. I put my hands to the ground feeling the scrape of the sidewalk against my palm. When had I fallen down? I brought my hands to my face pressing hard against my forehead trying to get some relief. My nasal passages scorched, feeling like I had inhaled a gallon of water. I had not gone into the water for ten years. Not out on a boat. Not out for a swim. I would stay up late contemplating for hours only to be unable to convince myself and return back inside. For the last ten years, the ocean waters had been more calm than I had ever seen them. Debra was down there in the ocean. Probably drifted slowly to the bottom. I know that it could only take 90 minutes to sink to the lowest part of the ocean. For some reason, I keep having this dream where Deb’s faceless, lifeless, decaying body is still floating out there and she hasn’t gotten any peace. Because the one peace she could have had of being buried next to her father,  _ our  _ father, was taken away by the worst monster she had ever known. For Debra to live and die in such a way means I never fufilled any purpose that Harry could have tried to teach me. The Need I once felt was stripped away from me when I let my sister go. Leaving me void of who I am at all. The little girl who dreamed about becoming a detective to impress her father, who was the youngest person to ever make lieutenent, was dead at the bottom of the ocean. The little girl who wanted nothing more than her older brothers love and appreciation will never get to have it. 

_ “You killed her, Dex.”  _ Brian whispered softly to me. Almost as if he was afraid of my reaction. The wind is still cold against my ears, my knees aching from bending, and I extend my legs to get some relief. I killed the only people who have ever cared about me. My father. My brother. And now Debra. The only family I have ever known is decaying at the bottom of the ocean. I don’t feel Brians hand when he puts it on my shoulder. I feel the ache in my legs, the sweat pooling under my arms, and the lump in my throat. My eyes are hooded. “ _ Its okay, Dex.” _

I can hear the sound before I realize that the scream is coming from myself. A gut wrenching sob is released from my chest and I grip the strands of my hair tightly, pulling the skin of my forehead. My chest heaves up and down as I puke up the remnants of what I had for dinner last night. I can’t remember Debras voice. I think, I  _ swear  _ I hear it whispered sometimes. Barely. Like an angel calling you away into the light.  _ I want to go so bad, Deb.  _ If I could switch her places, If I could do anything to bring her back I would do it in a heartbeat. I would give up the Need, give up the blood slides. I would take Rita knowing, the lethal injection, and the whole world knowing Dexter Morgan was the Bay Habor Butcher if I could bring her back. 

“I... _ loved _ my...sister,” I choked out, wiping the excess mucous from my nose. 

_ “I know, Dexter. I know”.  _ Brain consoled me, kneeling down to reach my level. “ _ And Big Bad Brian tried to get you to kill her. I’m sorry about that, Brother. “ _

I stared blankly at my older brother, not expecting an apology. “ _ C’mon.”  _ Brian said, “ _ let’s go get you a drink.”  _

I lift myself back up off the ground and my vision blurs for a few moments, making my breath catch in my throat. I’m not as agile as I used to be. I checked the clock on my wrist watch and the time read 02:12 hours. 

Havelock, North Carolina. A town on the coast with the population of 20,000. Only a quarter of the crowds from Miami. They only had one small all night bar I had visited on occasion after my long haul drives. I had never been a fan of alcohol, never thought that any drug or substance could amplify the power I already held. I, Dexter Morgan, once had the keys to the world. I was a God picking and choosing who to save and I sent the others down to their doom. And now, I was about to get drunk with my dead brother. 

A bell hanging from the top of the wooden door rang as I walked in. I nodded toward the bartender. An tall, old man with a beard down to his chest. The bar was almost empty with just a few people scattered throughout. I sat down at the bar making the stool screech against the ground. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked, wiping down a glass with a rag.

“Bourbon.” I grumbled out, avoiding eye contact and looking down at the ground. He places a glass in front of me and pours a shot. I swig back the brown liquid quickly and it burns my throat. I placed my hand on the bottle and poured myself another drink. “You can leave now.” 

I said without looking back at him, sliding a $100 bill across the counter. He muttered something under his breath I didn’t care to listen to and he walked away. I poured until the cup was full and made sure to drink every last drop.

“ _ Dex?”  _ I heard and I whipped my head around. 

_ “Where the fuck were you? I was worried about you.” Debra exclaimed, throwing her hand up in the air.  _

_ “Bowling,” I said, sharply, pushing her away. _

_ “Kinda late for bowling…?” Debra inquired, pushing on my last nerve.  _

_“Kinda not looking for your opinion.” I snapped back at my sister and she stayed quiet. I hated how good I was at that, sighing_ _shuffling through the mess Debra had so kindly left behind. There was a scratch on the back of my neck I felt like I hadn’t been able to scratch since my brother died, and Doakes started tailing me and...Are there really crumbs on my desk? “You clean the place today?_

_ Debra gave me a tight lipped smile and replied, “I did. It got messed up again.”  _

_ “I don’t suppose you were looking at apartment rental ads while you were on the tread mill.” I said, going into the kitchen to throw the crumbs away and trying to ignore the mess she made in there as well. If Doakes doesn’t stop tailing me then I’ll… _

_ “Look, if you want me out of here just ---” Debra whined but I cut her off.  _

_ Sighing, I turned around to face my sister. It was near impossible to think over the shrill of her voice. And even more when she looked up at me pouting because I wasn’t giving her what she wanted and that was reassurance that she can stay amidst her fall out with...my brother.  _

_ “I don’t...I just had a bad...bowling night,” I lied, sighing again, “What I meant was when you’re ready to be on your own, I’ll help you with the transition.”  _

_ Debras jaw clenched and looked down at the floor. I had never seen my sister so unwilling to perk back up before. “Thanks Dex. Thanks for putting up with me. You’re all I got.”  _

_ My breath caught in my throat, “W-what did you say?”  _

_ Debras eyebrows furrowed and glanced down at my shaking hands, and back at my face without answering me.  _

_ “Debra?” I asked her but she didn’t answer me. “Deb? What did you say?”  _

“ _ She’s dead. It’s all your fault.”  _

_ “What? Who? Deb? Deb, who’s dead?” I asked her, but she was gone. I glanced all around my old apartment and could not see my little sister anywhere. Only an echo of her voice. “She’s dead.”  _

“She’s dead.” The bar keep said again, staring at me. 

I gulped. I never know how to answer in these conversations. I cleared my throat, scooting closer towards the counter. Glancing at the bottle I saw half of it was already gone. “Um, who? Who’s...who’s dead?” 

“Her,” the bartender motioned to the small tv hung in the corner, where BREAKING NEWS: DOUBLE HOMICIDE and BREAKING NEWS: WOMAN FOUND MURDERED IN BATHTUB was flashing on the lower screen. A male reporter was standing outside holding an umbrella as rain and wind ravaged around him. A picture of a young woman flashed on the screen. A hispanic woman, mid 40s, black hair down to her shoulders, mother of two. Sliced at the femoral artery. For the first time tonight my heart beat slows down as I blink up at the screen. Sylvia Fuentes (formally known as Sylvia Prado) resident of Miami _._ She had remarried Carlos Fuentes and they had two children together. Sylvia was found dead a few hours prior. She hadn’t been reported missing. No signs of a break in. My stomach felt wheezy as I remembered the smell of blood. _Ritas eyes were still open, and blood reached all the way out of the tub._ Carlos, Sylvias husband, was found brutally murdered in the living room, with a hammer to his head. 

“Reporting LIVE,” the reporter onscreen says, “The brutal double homicide was found just a few hours prior by a neigbor. Both children are still reported to be missing. The police have no suspects at this time. However, a source close to the case revealed that there was a message left in blood claiming they know who the real Bay Harbor Butcher was. Bay Harbor Butcher was notoriously known for his own brutal murders of criminals both men and women he deemed “disposable” from society. The killer was found out to be Sergeant James Doakes from Miami Metor Homicide. He fled Miami only to be caught with a mountain of evidence. His case ended with James blowing up the cabin where he murdered his victims, with himself and the last victim inside. Could the Bay Habor Butcher be back? Why would he be back now? And why was this poor family targeted? You heard it here first…” 

“ _ You know,”  _ My brother whispered _ , “we had this guy once, Dex. But you wanted to let him go.”  _

I stared, eyes fixated on the screen even when it cut to commercial. “She...she’s…”

_ “She’s dead,”  _ Brian finished my sentence _ , “Strange, isn’t it? To realize you’re not the only monster out there?”  _

The bourbon bubbled in the pit of my stomach and I could feel it starting to rise to my throat. My feet swaying back and forth on the barstool. My fingers were freezing against my cheeks. “Why? Why? Who would kill Sylvia?” I asked eyebrows furrowing, pushing myself off the bar stool and gripping the counter for support. 

_ “Maybe not who would kill Sylvia,”  _ Brian whispers in my ear as we walk out of the bar together and I feel the cold air up against my skin _.  _ One of the letters of the open sign is out so it was flashing  **_O E N_ ** .  _ “But who would slice up mommys thigh and leave her there to die? Hmm? Dexter? Who hates Daddy even more than mommy? Who did we live out there all alone in Nebraska with nothing but the truth?”  _

“Jonah…?” I whispered to myself, “but that doesn’t make sense why now? Why would he want to expose me now? Unless…”

_ “Unless…he’s trying to lure you out.”  _ Brian smiled, and it took my brain a moment to catch up with what I was trying to tell myself _.  _

Someone else knows I’m alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> lsdjhlksjlksaj HI :-) I am a big Dexter fan, and feel the ending could have done a lot of characters more justice. Soooooooooooooodogfoodgf. One: I never finish anything. LIterally any fanfic Ive ever written unless its a oneshot. Idk I just have nooooo motivation but Im TRYIng to be a better writer....so bear with me....and also I know sometimes I switch back and forth betweeb past and prsesnt tense Ill go back periodically and make my GF correct it...but if i dont just publish i wont ever update so PLZ just know...Im gay so if you bully me its home of phobic. Hope you enjoy <3333


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